No One Really Wins
by arkanians
Summary: District Five is often home of the geniuses. One of these tributes fits the stereotype, while the other, not so much. /currently on District Five Reaping.
1. Seven Devils

**Welcome to the 38th** **Annual Hunger Games! All the tributes have been submitted, so now you'll just get to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. ;)**

**Enna Grit was last year's victor and will be District 3's mentor this year.**

**The song for this chapter is ****_Seven Devils _****by Florence + The Machine.**

* * *

**The Capitol:**

**Head Gamemaker Aquila Cromwell**

I snap my fingers at an Avox. The servant dashes over, fear scarred across her pretty features. Another time, I might've cared about her story, about her 'rights'; I might have treated her as if she was human, as if her voice wasn't silenced. Another time, I was an idiot. People who betray the Capitol betray their right to be human.

"Tell Tiber to get over here now," I snap.

Tiber, my absent-minded mutt designer, is off bumbling around, whistling the same repetitive tune that settles that messed-up little head of his. I need him though, especially for this arena. He's irritatingly brilliant.

I sit here, tapping my razor-sharp fingernails on the various dials and keys that litter my desk as I think. What we have here is good, but not good enough. We need more. Especially after last year.

Last year's arena was a boring one, simply a forest and a marsh. _Disgustingly _uninspired; the designers said they were going for 'minimalism', but being minimalistic doesn't skyrocket the viewing figures. Dacia Seritome was executed for it. I won't be the next.

Tiber runs in, interrupting my thoughts.

"Miss Cromwell? You called?" He smiles nervously, eyes slightly crossed, giving him the misleading look of a benevolent child. Idiot. Sadly, I have to keep him because he's the best in the Capitol.

"It's _Head Gamemaker _Cromwell," I say icily. Calling me Miss Cromwell is simply an insult to my position. "Come with me." He follows me meekly, and I lead him to the mutt design table.

(Actually, it's just a table, and an ugly one at that, but whenever I try and take it away from him he refuses to design anything. After working out torture wouldn't be too productive, I relented and let him keep the table. It's the only time I've ever relented on anything. And the only time I plan to.)

"Listen to me, Tiber," I say serenely, smoothly, with an undercurrent of steel in my voice. "I have a very special job for you…"

* * *

**District Three:**

**Enna Grit**

I sit on my disgustingly luxurious bed, crying my artificially dyed eyes out. Crying for the lives lost. Crying for the families. Crying for the friends. All who lost a part of their lives in the place I lost all of mine.

I try to remember each tribute every day. I try to honor them in some way. Even the ones I killed. Especially the ones I killed.

District Seven was the hardest on the Victory Tour. I killed Rock, and my ally, Andrew killed Winnie. That was after we split, but he was still associated with me. Dying yourself is enough...but seeing your sibling die? The one person you've clung to, drained all your fear and hope into, the one person keeping you strong...watching the light drain out of their eyes? I did that. _Me. _I thought I was the _good _guy.

The last night was the worst. It was terrible.

_The wind whipping cruelly. The shadows moving, me thinking every one was Amethyst. Amethyst. My final obstacle. Her face in my memories, replaced by some kind of monstrous mask. Not human. Just a target._

_I traveled to the Cornucopia, sword in one hand, shield in the other, ready for the final battle. Shaking from head to toe; tracing the line across my neck, praying a blade wouldn't follow it._

_I waited at the golden horn, where it began and ended._

_Eventually, an arrow whizzed into my side. It was Andrew who saved me, in a way, because it was his vest that stopped the arrow from piercing my flesh._

_I whirled around, seeing her._

"_It was you who killed Connor, I suppose," I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. A strange thing to be feeling in what could be the last moments of my life, but that's how I am, I suppose._

_I thought Connor was the angel he pretended to be, but after I saw him torture Sovann to death, I knew he was nothing he seemed. Is anything in the arena?_

_She snickered. "No, Ameeka killed him. I killed Everest," she boasts. "And now I'll kill you."_

_Fast as lightning, she raises her bow, aims, and fires towards my head. I duck, and slash with my sword, hitting her in the side. She unsheathes a long knife and leaps at me, snarling, her face resembling the same monstrous mask._

_I stumbled backwards, her quick attack startling me. She slashes my cheek and raises it, about to bring it down full-force into my stomach, but I scramble backwards raising my shield to block the stroke._

_I got to my feet and lunged, but she's agile, and darted backwards._

_Using my over-commitment, she nocks an arrow and fires. This time, it hits me directly in the chest. It's not deep, but it could've punctured some organ._

_I lunge again, and this time, it hits her in the chest, deeper than the arrow. I press my advantage, slashing again and again, but my guard drops and she pounces on me, stabbing wildly._

_I kick and punch, but she kicks my sword away._

_She traces my face lightly with the tip of her blade._

"_Not exactly pretty, but it'll do, I suppose." She tuts._

"_You're sick," I spit. "You're insane."_

"_Of course I am," She giggles, "one has to be crazy to survive in such a crazy world. But enough stalling." Her face morphs into a scowl. "Let's get started."_

_She traces intricate designs over my face and arms, carving into my skin with her knife._

_It hurts like hell. Not that I'd know, but I guess I will soon._

_I inch my way over to my sword; she's too absorbed in her sadistic glee to notice._

_Before she notices, I stab up into her ribcage, completely running her through. She gasps, her face turning pale._

"_But… but…" She falls to the floor._

"_But I win," I spit cruelly. I know better now. I trace over the last pattern, of a butterfly, the blood smearing over my skin. The scars won't fade. I'll never be able to leave the arena behind now._

_Her cannon fires, the hovercraft comes down. It all happens so fast._

This year, I'll relive it through my tributes. Feisty Enna is gone, replaced by a meek creature the Capitol has created. The scars were lasered away; in a way, I wanted them to stay, to remind myself how I used to be. All that remains is a single butterfly, to remember the pain. It's almost a comfort, a friend.

I'll watch my tributes die painful deaths, responsible. _I _could've had a better strategy for them, _I _could've guided them better.

Quite frankly, I hope one wins, just so I don't have to mentor. Selfish, but that's how the games turn you. Only caring about yourself.

I guess I'm just another of the Capitol's monsters.


	2. District One Reapings: The Arrogant

**Hooray, the first reaping! I had a great time writing these two characters, and I hope this starts off the story with a bang. ;)**

* * *

**District One**

**Dazzle Evans**

**Age Eighteen**

Today's the day. This is it. I've trained for this moment all my life, and no one's going to take away my glory. I know I'll win the qualifier. I _have _to. Or else I'll always be stuck as Delight's twin, Delight's brother, an Evans. Never Dazzle Evans, his own person. Just a spare part, a name and body attached to a person of real value.

"Daz, you up yet?" Delight calls. "Mom wants you to help serve some customers."

I roll my eyes. Velvet Evans, the only woman in District 1 who would actually ask—although with Mother it's an order, inescapable—her child to help with the business the day before they plan to volunteer. But there's no escaping her, she'll fix you with an icy stare and then there's no choice.

"Coming, Del." I trudge downstairs. Our family lives above District 1's most popular café. We've always done well, but business took a sharp turn up when Delight won. _Velvet's Café? _They would ask, _like Velvet Evans? Didn't that Evans boy win the 36__th__ Hunger Games?_

Yes. But there's more than one Evan, and I'll be the next.

"Good luck today, Dazzle," Calls Music from the barstool, "we'll be rooting for you." Music, my grandmother, often helps at the café, and being a victor herself, her presence often draws in more customers.

"Thanks, Gran." I grin and spot a table apparently unattended. It's Mr. and Mrs. Becker, regular customers. "Hello, Beckers," I smile, "good morning. And fine weather for the reaping. Would you like to begin with a beverage?" I pull out a notepad.

They both order coffee, and before long I'm back with the steaming cups. "Will you be having any food, or just the coffee?" I ask politely.

The blond woman—Amethyst, perhaps—orders a croissant. After they're done, I check the black, sleek clock hanging on the wall. 7:30. Since the training center is at the middle of District 1, and we're closer to the edge, I have to leave now.

"Mother, Delight, I'm leaving now. Wish me luck." I grin. Mother winks at me and Delight smirks a little. Jerkwad.

Father isn't up, he's a rather late sleeper, and so I'll see him at the Justice Building.

I walk down the path to the main street at a risk pace. It's good out house is so far away from the training center; it gives me a chance to warm up before training. My trainer always says that the best training is all in warming up. It's true, because you need, speed, strength, stamina, skill and suppleness (the five "S"s, as she calls them) to do any training with weapons. It's what's made me the excellent Career I am today.

Crossing Kendall Avenue, I see Steel. I yell his name and he turns around, giving me a friendly wave. I jog across the street. "Hey, Steel."

"How's it going? You're planning to volunteer tomorrow, right?"

"No, I _will _volunteer tomorrow." I correct. He punches my arm playfully, and I ask: "Where's Star?"

"Star's already heading to the center. You know her, can't be late so has to be way too early. To be quite frank, I don't think she'll make it." Replies Steel.

"Why?" I trust his judgment, he's a trainer after all and he knows the rating processes better than I do.

"She's got the bloodthirstiness, but not the technique," He says. "Unfortunate, really. But there's always next year. The fan favorite for the girls is called Glisten Kilgore. Heard of her?" He asks.

"Haven't met her, but I was in a class with her when I was 11." I reply. I remember her with coarse brown hair, beady eyes, and being very bony, unlike the beauties District 1 is famous for. She always seemed flirty and girly, at least until she got into the training center. Then, she was brutal. Rather like Star, in fact.

"Hel_lo _Daz," Star herself, the very person I was thinking about, places her hands on my chest and tilts her head upwards to kiss me lightly. Apparently she saw us—she has hawk-like vision—coming and waited. I can hear Steel disguise a snigger with a loud coughing fit. Star whirls around immediately. "Something wrong, dear brother? I didn't know you had allergies."

"No, nothing wrong at all." Steel replies calmly, having successfully smothered his snickers.

"_Good." _She hisses.

The tall, glittering glass dome of the training center rises above our heads as we cross Hollis Avenue. I hold open the door for Star as we enter and a corner of her mouth turns up in a smirk.

The blond receptionist smiles. "Hello, Mr. and Ms. Williams. And you are…" She looks at me.

"Dazzle Evans, age 18." I grin.

"I suppose you're here for the qualifier. Star, head into the room on the left marked '17-year-old girls', and Dazzle, yours is the one on the right that says '18-year-old-boys'. May the odds be ever in your favor!" She smiles.

I inhale, the slightly antiseptic smell of the training center stinging my nostrils. This is it. I have to bring it, or I'll never get the glory. This is my time.

I enter the room with Steel—he's the supervisor for this room, luckily—and I hear a couple yells. Most are having their celebration, thinking they'll join the games. I'll have to prove them wrong.

"Hey, Dazzle!" A bony, thin boy punches me on the shoulder. I believe his name is Sheen. Poor guy. He'll never make it; physical strength is one of the most important factors they use to determine who'll join the games. Strength, speed, stamina, skill, and suppleness. That's all I have to remember.

I sit down and bend over, stretching my muscles. Flexibility is something I have going for me, I'm on of the supplest in my age group. It's a fairly unique skill, because many boys focus only on strength. Hopefully that'll be part of what pushes me over.

Next on my list: push-ups. I do twenty, an average amount for me, and proceed to crunches. I'm smarter than the rest. They're chatting and laughing, while I'm preparing. We'll see who comes out on top.

Finally, I run a couple laps around the long room. This will warm my body up for the two hours of competition that are in store. We have the longest to wait though. They evaluate the tributes youngest up, starting with the 12-year-old. The younger divisions don't take so long though, because barely anyone ever tries. No one's ever ready, they haven't been training for long enough and haven't developed the control and precision that others have.

Finally it's the 18-year-olds. They go in alphabetic order, girls first, so we still have a while. Through the little window that leads into the hallway, I watch Velvet Aarons being escorted into the judge's room. She looks confident, excited, and she's one of the best. Her accuracy with a bow is superb, and she has extreme control. Her bony figure doesn't look threatening, but if she gets her hands on a bow or some throwing knives, she's a real threat.

"Dazzle Evans." Finally, my name is called! I hop lightly to my feet and follow the woman out the door and into the judging room. Everything is pristine, and every weapon you could imagine is there. The regular, like swords, spears, knifes, and axes, but I also see some strange weapons, like pikes, crossbows, and nunchucks.

I have to show what I can do, or ten years of training will have gone to waste.

"You may begin." The head judge, a skinny, bald man in his thirties says. I grin, and run over to the knife station. I look them over and grab a skinny long one from the rack. My grip tightens; I whirl around, and whip the knife into the dummy that stands across the room. It hits it neatly, burying into the fabric chest of the dummy. I grab a couple more and throw them in quick succession into the neck, head, torso, and chest. After my knife display, I jog to the sword station. I flip on one of the automaton swordplay machines, grab my favorite sword—long, flexible, and light—and begin to spar.

My focus narrows, I dodge, parry, and lunge. The dummy nearly hits me a few times, but I'm usually on the offense and with the advantage. I press it hard, until eventually, my blade snakes through and stabs it clean through the chest.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and for my final demonstration—three's the maximum—I've saved the best for last. I walk to the archery station and grab a large, powerful longbow. Forget Velvet, I'll show them something that they'll always remember.

I take a quiver, fill it with arrows, and start with some simple moving target exercises to warm up. Of course, I hit every one straight in the bull's-eye. Then, bow in hand; I walk to the climbing/gymnastics station. I quickly scale the tree and shoot some more targets. Now here's where the exciting bit is.

I slip down to my knees on the branch, hanging upside-down. Then, I shoot ten more arrows. The quiver has a mechanism that stops the arrows from falling out, thank goodness.

I let go my legs from the "branch", flipping and landing on another. Hearing a gasp from one judge, I smile internally as I stick the landing. I jump off this one, flipping twice and shooting an arrow while in midair. When I land on the smooth wooden floor of the training center, I look towards the target. I smile. Hit the target not quite in the bull's-eye, but very, very close. I drop the bow and the quiver and dash to the gymnastics area, jumping onto one of the bars and swinging up into a handstand on the bar. After a couple swings and flips, I hop down, slightly dizzy, but knowing I have a great chance at being the male tribute for the 38th Hunger Games. Screw those who say gymnastics is for girls, they'll all see what I can do with it in the games.

"Dazzle, you may leave."

With that, I stride out the door. I'd be very surprised if I wasn't the top. But of course I am, there's no way any other lumbering guy could beat that.

I can't wait to volunteer.

The next morning, I'm woken up by my alarm. Another early morning, as District One's announcement of who will volunteer is very early and the reaping right afterwards. The Capitol likes the reaping to be early here so they can watch it all live.

I slip on my reaping outfit, neat black pants and a pressed white shirt. I lace up my shoes quickly, and grab a silver watch Music took into the games with her. It's slightly feminine, but still looks great.

The enticing smell of pancakes brings me downstairs, and Mother gives me a large plate of them, drizzled with maple syrup. I grin. It may be childish, but I've always had a fondness for Sunday-morning pancakes. I shovel them into my mouth, and then filled, I go towards the door.

"Good luck today, Dazzle. I know you'll be able volunteer today." Music says kindly.

"Thanks, Music. I'm very excited," I reply. "But I need to go, I'll see you guys later."

I walk to the city square, and sure enough, Bonnilette Maroon is there, grinning, as young as she was last year. And the year before. And when the games began.

"Hello, hopeful tributes? I'm going to announce the lucky female who is going to volunteer?" And as usual, she still hasn't stopped with that annoying speech habit of hers.

Last year, the female tribute, Amethyst, wasn't a Career. The girl who planned to volunteer, Sheen Hayden was injured right before the reaping and there was no time to pick a new one so Amethyst was reaped. She made it to the final two, but that damn Enna killed her. It would've been nice to have a victor, even if Amethyst had gone a bit mad.

The male tribute was your average lumbering Career, nothing special. I didn't have high hopes for him, he was stupid and arrogant.

Now, Bonnilette is about to announce the girl tribute. I'm curious, my bet is on Velvet Aarons but Steel said Glisten might get it.

"Our lucky volunteer is… Glisten Kilgore?" Sure enough, Steel was right. She hasn't become more beautiful over time, that's for sure. Coarse brown hair and beady murky green eyes, with the same bony figure she had in 6th grade. But I can't underestimate her. If she beat _Velvet _out, she has to be extremely good.

Now, I pray that it's me.

"Dazzle Evans?" I grin. I'm going into the Hunger Games.

Now, all of District One files in. It would really be more efficient if Glisten and I boarded the train now, but the Capitol likes the ceremony, and it makes the whole thing a little showier.

"Welcome, District One, to the 38th Hunger Games? Let's start with the girls?" She fishes around the large bowl until her long, manicured nails seize on piece of paper. Satin Spencer is reaped.

"I volunteer." Sure enough, Glisten volunteers. She strides out of the seventeen-year-old section and takes the stage. Someone else could volunteer, theoretically, but they wouldn't receive sponsorship and would be shunned and wouldn't become a mentor when they got home, if they even did.

"What's your name?" Bonnilette asks.

"I'm Glisten Kilgore, victor of the 38th Hunger Games." She tosses her hair. Somebody's confident. But she wouldn't have volunteered if she didn't think she could do it.

"Now, for the boys?" This is it. I'm ready. "Treasure Auric?"

"I volunteer." I raise my hand and walk to the stage calmly.

"Two volunteers? How nice? What's your name?"

"Dazzle Evans. And you'll," I gesture to the audience, "be seeing me again."

The crowd claps, and I turn to shake hands with Glisten. Despite her flirty demeanor, I see something in her eyes, analyzing me, figuring me out. Her long, slightly pointed nails dig into my flesh. Looking down slightly, I see a drop of blood ooze out. Meeting her eyes, she just smiles sweetly. She knows exactly what she's doing.

But so do I.

* * *

**Glisten Kilgore**

**Age Eighteen**

I'm ready. Today, I'll finally free myself from the clutches—although more like _talons, _their nails are so long_—_of the dumb, self-absorbed creatures that I call my friends. They have no interest in blood. They don't know what it's like to push them to the limits, to sweat, to _train. _I do. Their idea of dangerous is wearing the wrong top to a party, or talking to the wrong person.

My idea of dangerous is death.

That's what I'll have to face.

Perhaps it would be easier if I were rich or pretty. Maybe then, I would enjoy that sort of stuff. But it's the only way I avoid being teased and shunned.

Sure, they _say _they love training, but none of them actually plan to volunteer except me. Which is why I'm far more dangerous than them.

"Glisten! Today's the reaping, right?" I hear Moss's voice from the living room. It's nearly drowned out by the noises of her TV show, but I can make it out.

"Yup. And I'm volunteering, so shut up and let me think, yes?" I snap back. I really don't need another sibling on my back, I've already got four others to evade.

I slip on a dark purple dress with jewels of all colors on the neckline. Sliding into my black high heels, I grin. Ah, the joys of theft. Sure, we could've been caught, but what the hell, it's all in good fun.

Now the question—will I be chosen? If I'm not there's always next year, but I just feel like this year, I _need _it. I know I'm good enough, but what if someone else is better? My main competition is Velvet Aarons, bitch extraordinaire. She thinks the best just because she's not a bad shot with a bow and arrow. Well guess what? _Everyone _does archery. I showed them something they hadn't seen in years.

"Come over here now, Glisten." My mother barks. Sighing, I saunter over.

"Yes, Mother Dearest?" I snap sarcastically.

"Glisten: even if you're not the top, you're going to volunteer today. Hear me? I didn't raise you for nothing," Karat gets a wild gleam in her eye. "You'll volunteer and come back home."

I nod. My mother has made it her life mission to have as many children as possible so they can win. Of course, I'm not doing it for her. I'm doing it entirely for myself.

"Good. You'll win, and then Spruce, then Moss, then Rhinestone, then Fame, then Sequin…" She wanders away.

I roll my eyes and head towards the door. My dress is pulled a bit and I look down to see Fame tugging on it. "Glisten! You're volunteering!"

I sigh. Apparently no one got the memo. "Yes, Fame, I'm volunteering. Have a problem with that?"

"I'm going to volunteer when I'm your age and win! Then we'll live in the Victor's Village together!"

"Mmhm." I leave Fame to his counting; he's trying to figure out how many years it'll be until he volunteers. Idiot child.

I walk down Dennis Avenue until: "Glissie!" Gem squeals, throwing her arms around me. I forgot that the Rivera family lives on Dennis; I should've taken the other way.

"Gemmy!" I have to pretend I'm excited to see her. Joy.

"I can_not _wait for the announcement today. I really hope I can volunteer!" She giggles. Idiot. For her, not getting into the games would be too bad, but not the end of the world. For me, not getting into the games would be a waste of my entire life.

"I know, right?" While we walk and she chatters about her boyfriend, I look at her. Long blond hair, bright green eyes, and a perfect figure, gorgeous in every way. Unlike me. She's wearing a short white dress with jewels and high heels. She probably actually bought it too.

"Did you hear about Essence's boyfriend? He cheated on her."

I gasp falsely. "Oh-em-gee, really?" I'm not surprised. First of all, Essence' boyfriend has fun with every single girl in the Academy, and second, Essence is just about the most annoying girl in Panem. Bossy, stupid, and dishonest, no one really likes her.

"Glisten! Hi!" I turn around to see Silver. Thank God Silver's here. She's my only friend I can be relaxed around. She's actually real, even though she's the one who introduced me to this crew of mindless morons.

"Hey, Silv." I smile.

"Silver, did you hear about Essence's boyfriend? He cheated on her." Gemmy butts in, always having to be the center of attention.

"Oh," Silver replies absently. She doesn't care about boyfriend/girlfriend stuff, which is one of the reasons I like her.

"Isn't that terrible?" Gem presses her, hoping to get a reaction.

"Yeah, I feel bad for Essence…" She trails off, obviously uninterested. Gemmy rolls her eyes.

"Honestly, Silver, you're never going to _get _a boyfriend if you're not interested in one." She snaps.

"Um… but if I'm not interested in one, the why would I be trying to get one?" Silver says slowly. Her logic is impeccable, for a change.

"_Because, _every popular girl has a boyfriend. I've got Titanium, Diamond's got Gleam, Tiara's got Glint, and Silk's got Wonder. Where _is_ Silk anyways?" She wonders.

"I saw her yesterday," Silver offers.

"Yesterday isn't now." Gem smirks.

"Let's just go without them. They're probably there already, and the Larkens will be waiting for us." I say.

We walk, gossiping about clothes, boys, girls, hell, we gossip about _gossip. _That's how stupid this clique is.

When we get to the square, Bonnilette Maroon takes the stage, preparing to announce who has the honor of volunteering.

I'm absolutely certain that I will be the volunteer. I could I not win? I was deadly.

I wrestled a trainer, successfully beating him despite the fact that he's six feet and thirty years old. I climbed the false trees quickly. For once, bony build came in handy as I climbed to the top without one branch cracking.

But the real success, that'll push me over the top, is my deadly aim, with chakrams, to be exact. Circular, deathly sharp metal disks, meant for throwing, but can be used in close combat, and my weapon of choice. I grin, knowing that my weapons will be the source of many limbs lost in the arena.

They flew across the room, striking their target every time. I could practically hear them whizz through the air.

"Our lucky volunteer is… Glisten Kilgore?" I smirk. I knew it. I'm going into the games, not Velvet, not Gem, but I.

The boy is Dazzle Evans. The only interesting thing about him is that his brother, Delight, won the 36th games. Otherwise, I don't think he's much of a threat.

The rest of the district walks in, ready to see us volunteer. We are the tributes. We'll make District 1 proud.

"Our female tribute is… Satin Spencer!"

"I volunteer." I raise my hand and calmly walk up to the stage. She asks me what my name is and I reply: "Glisten Kilgore, victor of the 38th Hunger Games.

It's true. Dazzle volunteers, and we shake hands. I grab his hand and dig in just a little with my pointed nails, filed for just this purpose. A drop of blood oozes out and I smile sweetly. He looks at me quizzically. I just smile even wider.

This will be fun.

In the Justice Building, my gaggle of "friends" piles in, Gem, Silk, Diamond, Tiara, Blossom, Petal, Essence, and Lavender. Lots of "Oh-em-gee, Glisten, you're going to be great!" ensues.

Finally, after the morons leave, Silver comes in. "Glisten, you'll be awesome. Good luck, not that you need it." She giggles.

"Thanks, Silver. I won't need luck though," I snicker at the very idea. "You hardly need to sponsor me."

"I've heard the Larkens are sponsoring you. Just… don't get overconfident. Remember what happened to Amethyst." She shudders a little. Amethyst was always weak, but she picked up a knack with the bow and made it to the final two. But the games had taken a toll on her mind, and the girl from 3 killed her. I never liked Amethyst, but I liked Enna even less, and it would've been nice to have another victor.

I'll keep my sanity just fine as I win, because I'm not weak.

"You'll do fine," Silver's light, high-pitched voice jerks me out of my reverie.

"I know."

She leaves, and my family comes in.

"I can't wait to see _you _in the games," Moss smirks, "I'll love watching you kill the others. It'll be just like my cartoons." She giggles a little. She loves blood and gore. I think she'll grow up to be just like me, she's already wicked with a spear. I can't wait to be her mentor and watch her succeed, just like I'm about to.

The triplets—Rhine, Fame, and Sequin hug me, nearly strangling me, and I grimace. They're annoying, to put it lightly, and I've never been able to stand little kids. I peel them off me to find myself staring into Spruce's eyes. He glares at me.

"Come back home, Glisten, so you can be rude and uncaring to the little kids. You don't care about them."

I shrug. The important thing now is winning, not worrying about some kids' feelings.

He continues his hushed rant. "You've never gave them a second glance, and I've been stuck here taking care of them. You know Mother couldn't do it."

"Karat is capable." I lie. If Spruce actually cared about the games, he would train and wouldn't have to care for the kids. He's just weak, like Amethyst, like Gem, even like Silver. Not like me.

I'm strong enough to win.


	3. District Two Reapings: The Sly

**Alecto Stein**

**Age Seventeen**

"Checkmate." I smirk.

"Not fair. You shouldn't have had the chance to turn your pawn into that queen. And you know that you'll always beat me in a game of chess at six in the morning." She grumbles.

"Minerva, I'll _always _beat you at chess," I stand up, brushing off my hands, "no matter how hard you try."

She scowls, her shadows marring her round face. "Shut up. You know I could beat you in any weapon."

"Not knives." I wink playfully, the layer of ice clear underneath my words.

"Everything else though." She scowls. Always bitter, that's our Minerva we know and love. Regularly picking fights, constantly talking about how she'll win this year, sticking her nose into other peoples' business, and generally being obnoxious. She's not going to win though. That honor falls to me.

Hona trots over, wagging her tail and barking. She wants to be fed, and will nag me until she gets it. Smart dog. Father didn't want me getting the dog, but she's helped me with training and taught me to take responsibility for my actions, which has always been a characteristic he's admired.

I unseal the baggie of dog food and pour it into the dish, not spilling a kernel. My control over weapons even applies to giving my pet food.

"Good morning, Alecto, good morning, Minerva." My father says calmly, like he says everything. After rubbing the dust out of his sleepy eyes, he pets the dog absentmindedly, staring at Minerva. "You're volunteering today, aren't you?" He asks frankly. He knows that she is, she's been planning all year, but he likes to double-check and triple-check everything.

Minerva draws herself up, smiling. "Yes, Father. I am." Her pride is apparent on her face. She loves to feel important. I keep quiet, knowing interjecting would just result in a fight.

Unlike in District 1, the volunteering system is a simple first-come-first-serve. Very few would obey the rule if the volunteer were pre-determined-I certainly wouldn't—and it's less about the honor here and more about the actual games. In District 4, it's the same, but that's also because there are fewer kids who train. Last year they had two Careers, although the male, Baltic, didn't make it very far. Killed by the boy from 6, if I remember correctly, a pathetic death, just shot in the back sneakily. The Salvents were probably the scorn of the district that year.

The Steins won't be.

"Good, Minerva. You won't disappoint this family," Father says, bringing me back to the present. "Alecto, you will be working at the training center as a full trainer when Minerva is gone." That's another thing about our district: anyone can open a training center. Whether it succeeds or not is a different question. My late mother, Lucia, opened a training center—which is now one of the largest in the district—which is part of the reason why I'm so skilled: I'm there all the time. I'm better than Minerva, since my training routine is longer and harder, and I spend more time at the center. She's simply too stubborn to understand it.

"Alecto, Minerva, get dressed for the reaping and come downstairs. Then you may meet with your friends and proceed to the reaping." My father can be over-controlling, but it's simply because he's protective.

I jog lightly up the wide stairs and hop onto the landing. I walk into my room that I haven't bothered to clean in a week—I'll get to it when I get back. Glancing in the mirror, I tie my curly black hair back into a high ponytail. I slip off my pajamas and throw on a gray t-shirt and jeans. I've never really cared about clothes, and the reaping isn't an exception.

Pulling on my sneakers, I glance at the clock. The digital read-out says that it's 10:50AM. I should get to the center to meet Thalia and Phoebe by 11:00, so I dash out the door, bumping into Minerva on the way down the stairs. "Sorry, Min!" I call behind me. She glares, annoyed.

I cross Kew Street, a bike narrowly missing me. The rider curses colorfully at me, and I roll my eyes. Probably one of the idiot boys who think they can win the games with brawns alone, like Chase from last year. He lasted far longer than I expected, I thought Everest would kill him off immediately.

Everest, last year's female tribute, was great. She lasted to the final four and would have won if the girl from 1 hadn't made a cheap shot to the back. I remember it clearly—she was hunting in the night, looking for the girl from 4, and 1 shot her from a tree. Cowardly, in my opinion. I'm glad the girl from 3 beat District 1; there was something off about her.

The boy from 2, on the other hand, was a twelve-year-old mad kid who died on the second day; killed by the girl from 1, back when she was sane. The poor kid actually managed to kill the only tribute weaker than him—Sage, from 9.

I open the large glass door to the center, and see Phoebe. I smile and walk quicker.

"Hey, Alecto," she smiles, waving slightly.

"Hi, Phoebe. How has your morning been?" I ask politely.

"Pretty good. Julian's been a jerk though." She sighs. Julian is her twin brother, whose physical size, towering over Phoebe makes him enjoy bullying her.

"That's too bad. I could do something about it, if you like." I smirk, winking.

"That's okay. I don't think Julian would survive you without a trip to the hospital though!" She laughs. Despite her shyness, Phoebe is actually one of the best in the center. Her skills with a sword are formidable, and she's strong, although not that much stronger than me. She's planning to volunteer either next year or the year after, as she's sixteen and wants to go in with the best chance she can.

"Have you seen Thalia much? She's been a bit busy lately, hasn't had the time to train."

"Yeah, but that's not important. Are you really going to volunteer today?" She asks, slightly nervous but mostly excited.

"To the best of my ability."

"Minerva is going to be _pissed." _

"That is a side effect of volunteering. Oh well." I reply sarcastically.

"You'll come back easily."

"Yes, I will." I don't argue. I'm not being cocky, I'm simply telling the truth.

"Alright then. When she tries to disown you, don't some whining to me." Phoebe sighs. I just smirk, folding my arms across my chest.

"Will you spar with me a little?" Phoebe asks.

"Sure." I stand up and roll my head back, my neck cracking, and then bend over to touch the floor, stretching. All Careers or flexible, but I've always been stretchier than most. "Free-for-all or specific weapons?" Free-for-all is simply running around the training center grabbing weapons, climbing, and running around as much as you want. Specific weapons require you to use a certain weapon.

"Let's do specific weapons. Knives?" She asks, choosing a weapon that we're both skilled with. That levels the playing field a little, makes it more fun.

I jog through the open glass doors, the air-conditioning blasting me in the face. _We need to get that fixed, running smoother. _I think, rather off-topic, but that's just how my mind works.

I head into the locker room, spin the dial on my locker, and change into my training clothes. Phoebe does the same, and we walk to the weapons area.

We slip on protective gear—helmets, breastplates, arm and leg guards, and hand protectors—and grab knives. We're free to throw them or fight up close, and I grab a handful of throwing knives and two longer ones. We back up a little and then start. We're the only ones in the center, so we're free to throw knives willy-nilly and use the entire space.

Phoebe makes the first move, chucking a knife straight at my face. Adrenaline shoots down my veins—despite having a helmet, I make a point always to pretend it's the real battle—and I whip out of the way. It grazes my helmet, but if I didn't have it, it wouldn't have hit me.

I throw a knife at her chest—if you're shooting for a fast opponent, aim at the center of mass—and it hits the side of her plate, burying itself fairly deep. Definitely wouldn't kill her, but it's always good to have made the first hit. It'll psyche the enemy out. Pressing my advantage, I throw more, but after the second one hits her, she regains her wits and rushes forward, brandishing her long knife. She's moving too fast for me to score a good hit with a throwing knife, so I quickly stuff the one I had ready in my hand into the belt around the breastplate, and yank out the two long knives I took from the rack. She stabs towards my neck but I duck and then shoot up, using my long, muscular legs to propel myself and my knife towards her neck. She parries quickly, and swipes down and smacks my helmet with the flat of her blade. She swung too fast to whip around to the sharp side, luckily, or I would've lost.

I slash her arm, and she mutters something under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing you need to know." With that, she lunges, using her sword training, but she hasn't accounted for the length difference of the two blades and I smack her helmet, this time with the actual sharp end. I smile triumphantly. "I suppose it's better I won; I'm volunteering, after all."

"True," She smiles, takes off her helmet, and shakes my hand. "Good match, Alecto."

I jog into the locker room, peel my sweaty clothes off my body—the protective gear, however useful it damn _hot_—and walk into the small shower stall. The water is lukewarm—another thing we need fixed—but it's good enough, and after a couple minutes scrubbing, I grab a towel and step out. My reaping clothes go on my body, and I'm ready. A quick glance at the clock informs me that I need to go. It's good to get there early so you can place yourself up front and have a good shot and volunteering.

Phoebe and I walk through the tall doors and I squint, surprised at the sharp sunlight.

"Hopefully the escort isn't as dumb as last year." My friend says.

"The escorts are always dumb, Phoebe," I hear a slight condescending tone in my voice, "that's kind of the point of them. You annoy you so much that you don't even _want_ to volunteer, since you'll have to spend time with one."

"True." She smiles slightly.

Once we make it to the square, the silly escort, Jha'ayne (pronounced Jane, apparently) Samyythh (pronounced Smith, so it seems) hops—quite literally, as her feet have been replaced with springs—up to the stage. She's new and glad to be here, she says, and she's going to draw the girl's name.

"Mirianna Belford!" Mirianna's in my class, and an avid Career, although she plans to volunteer next year. She doesn't even bother to walk up to the stage.

"I VOLUNTEER!" Minerva and I scream in unison. If looks could kill… we race up to the stage, but I'm faster and more agile, and I make it to the stage first. _Yes._

"What's your name?" Jha'ayne asks me.

"Alecto Stein." I reply bluntly. Only the silly, puffed-up tributes add a flourish to their name.

"Awesome!" She enthuses. "Next, for the boys." She takes a long time choosing the best slip from the pile. Typical new escort behavior, trying to play it up for the cameras. Finally, she finds one that she likes, unfolds it, and reads it aloud. "Romulus Mars!"

A chorus of hopeful voices volunteer, but one, a tall, muscular, auburn-haired boy makes it to the stage first.

"What's your name, handsome?" She asks him perkily.

"Acanthus Dianteo." He drawls, a smirk across his square-shaped face.

"Shake hands, tributes!" She bounces a little. I turn towards him, extending my hand and he grips it tightly, his dark blue eyes meeting my gray ones. He smiles a little wider, this time baring white teeth. His arrogance practically seeped out through his pores. Despite his muscular build and training, I don't think he'll be particularly hard to defeat. Especially since his forte seems to be close combat, judging from his build. And shooting him down from afar will be easy.

After being rushed off the stage, I enter the Justice Building. I'm curious as to what Minerva's going to say to me. She'll be angry, to say the least. Sure enough, here she comes storming in.

"ALECTO MARCELA STEIN," Minerva screams, "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Minerva Lucia Stein," I reply calmly, "I volunteered."

She rushes at me, and I barely manage to step out of the way. I didn't think she would be _that_ angry. As I step out of the way, I stick out my foot and she trips over it, her stocky frame crashing into the small table, rattling the lamp on top.

"It's illegal to attack tributes in the Justice Building," I smile blandly.

"Fuck that," she hisses, getting up, "you stole my chance away from me. You could've volunteered next year, I can't!"

"I'm sorry," and I truly am. After training all her life for this, it must be hard. "I just felt like this year was the right year."

"_This was my last chance!" _she spits, and leaves, slamming the door hard behind her.

My father walks in, looking stern. "Alecto, you should not have taken your sister's chance like that. I wish you good luck, nevertheless. However, our family will not sponsor you, as you weren't supposed to volunteer."

"_What?" _I'm shocked. "But you have to."

"I'm sorry, Alecto, but you'll have to win the games without our help."

"Fine then. I'll still win."

"I don't doubt it." He strides coolly out the door. A cold goodbye, but I'm fine with that. I'll have to be used to coldness in the games. No one's my friend there.

I hear steps on the hard wood floor of the room, and Thalia walks in. "Good luck, Ali!" She hugs me, grinning. She is the only one allowed to call me Ali, as it's a nickname I generally dislike.

"I'll need it," I reply grimly, "since I volunteered instead of Minerva, Father's not sponsoring me."

She gasps. "That's awful! I'm sure you'll get sponsors on your own, of course, but remember—you need to be likable. That's the most reliable way to get sponsors."

"'I'm not very likable, Thalia," I sigh, it finally hitting me that the games just got far harder.

"It's not like you have to be jokey or anything. You just have to look interesting. You could be deadly, or sly, or calculating, you just have to get people to notice you."

"I wish you were my mentor. I'm sure you'll do better in coaching me then Jha'ayne."

"Ugh, don't get me _started_ on her," she rolls her eyes." Springs for feet? Really?"

"Now's not the time to worry about Capitol fashion choices," I remind her.

"Yes, yes, you're right. Have a great time, you'll be great!" With that, she turns around, her dark brown hair flying behind her.

Phoebe walks in, and we engage in a conversation much like the one that I had with Thalia minutes ago.

Finally, Jha'ayne walks me to the train with Acanthus.

"So, why did you decide to volunteer?" Acanthus asks, his ever-present smirk still on his face.

"Because I'm going to win. I've trained for this all my life." I retort.

"Always a good reason," he winks. "I myself want to win for the glory. And, of course, I want to exercise my skills in the real thing."

"I didn't ask." I bite back sharply.

"I answered." He winks. He keeps talking, on and on, and I simply tune him out. I need to focus right now, and my fool of a district partner can't distract me. It's necessary that I stay vigilant.

"…And that's the story of my family. What about you?" He grins.

Finally, my patience snaps. "My mother's dead. My father trains me. My sister never really likes me, and now she hates me since I volunteered instead of her. Happy?" I snap.

"Sounds nice." He said, his cool façade never breaking. By this time, we've boarded the sparkling chrome train. The doors close, and I watch the waving crowd outside, chanting our names and grinning, running beside the track.

This is it.

* * *

**Acanthus Dianteo**

**Age Eighteen**

I smile, as the arrow hits the target yet again. Despite my large frame, I've always been good at archery, yet no one expects it from me. I hope it'll give me an advantage in the games.

"Hey, 'Canthus," I hear a female voice call.

"Yes?" I turn away from the target, setting down the large, powerful longbow. Venus stands there, smiling. "How are you? Are you still going to volunteer today?"

"Yep! I'll come back, of course," I smile, "if only to get back to you."

She giggles. "Aw, you're sweet." She glances at the target. "With your archery skills, you'll win easily. Shoot'em all from afar."

"That's my plan. Don't tell it to the enemy." I say in a hushed, mock-solemn tone.

"I'll make sure not to," she grins.

I hang up my bow on the rack and slip the quiver off my back, placing it on top of the shelf. Then, I jog over to Venus and—

xxx

"Come on, Venus. I'm volunteering and I'm not going to be late because of you." I snap. She looks slightly nervous, but keeps walking. "Do you know I'm going to win, Venus?"

"Yes, Acanthus."

"Well there's no point in me telling you, because you're going to see it executed quickly in a couple days."

"Awesome." She says glumly.

"It is."

We stroll to the large, stone-paved square and the escort hops onto the stage, grinning. After she introduces herself as Jha'ayne Samyythh, she drew the girl's name from the bowl.

"Mirianna Belford!" Mirianna is a short, ugly girl who I couldn't care less about. Hopefully I won't be going into the games with _her,_ she wouldn't provide much of a challenge. Luckily, a tall, slender girl with curly black hair tied in a ponytail volunteers. She announces herself as Alecto Stein. Her strong, lithe arms tell me she's an archer too. This'll be interesting. Next, the boy is reaped.

"Romulus Mars!" Oh yes. _Yes._

Romulus, an old enemy of mine, has wanted this his entire life. This is his last year. I can take this from him.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I scream, racing forward, I push people out of the way—I _need _this. Pushing people aside, I race to the stage.

"What's your name, handsome?" Jha'ayne asks.

"Acanthus Dianteo." I smirk, folding my arms across my chest. Jha'ayne directs us to shake hands, and I do, meeting her level gaze. I squeeze tightly, but she doesn't flinch. She may actually be a challenge, which will be fun, before I kill her. For now, I decide I will adopt the charming, flirty angle, to play to the audience. Everyone loves a lady's man.

At the Justice Building, Venus and Elliot hug me and wish me luck. I don't particularly care about Venus, but Elliot is useful. He's a very good training partner, and helps me with strategy. They give me final advice, Venus telling me "Come back home safe!" and they leave. My parents, Jonathon and Sara enter, and smile.

"Make sure you win, Acanthus," Father says. "Business will go up immensely if you succeed." I nod, and my mother says much like the same thing. That's my lovely parents: when I'm going off to fight to the death, they care about business. _C'est la vie. _It's far better to have tough parents than sweet ones, it trains you even harder. They've always been supportive, but hard on me.

Jha'ayne leads me out of the Justice Building and onto the gravel of the loading area. She hops back up and brings Alecto down, and we proceed to the train.

"So, why did you volunteer?" I ask, smiling widely. Playing the harming angle will only cause the sponsors to rain more heavily on me.

"Because I'm going to win. I've trained for this all my life." She bites back.

"Always a good reason," I wink, "I myself want to win for the glory. And, of course, to exercise my skills in the real thing."

"I didn't ask."

"I answered," I decide to speak again after an awkward pause. "Did you know that my father is a businessman? He invests and sells all sorts of things. And my mother invests too. I'm an only child. And that's the story of my family. What about you?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"My mother's dead. My father trains me. My sister never liked me, but now she hates me since I volunteered instead of her. Happy?" Her voice rises slightly. I can tell she's trying to keep her cool. I can't think of anything to say, but I keep smiling. I'm not going to be bothered with her problems.

The automatic doors of the train open with barely a whoosh, and we step in. The sparkling, glass walls of the train dazzle me for a second, but I'm not shocked for long.

Salacia, Alecto's mentor is sitting on the plump leather couch, and smiles when she sees us. "I think we may actually have a chance this year."


	4. District Three Reapings: The Logical

**First of all, many apologies on the lateness of this chapter. This is pretty lame, even for me. XD I hope you enjoy it anyways.**

* * *

**District Three Reapings**

**Cerium Drive**

**Age Sixteen**

I run a hand through my hair as I stare at the mess. Gears here, wires there—there's no way I'll have time to clean this up before the reaping. Sighing, I sink to the floor and start sorting pieces into the proper bins. I accidently drop a chain into the bin for bolts, and I immediately snatch it out again. I don't like things being out of place.

"Cerium, breakfast!" My father calls from the kitchen. I can smell the warm biscuits practically singing to me, but I have to clean this mess up! I scramble to pick of all the parts, and finally shove everything into place. Then, I dash across our house to the delicious breakfast.

"Where's Mom?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Working, kiddo," Dad sighs. My mother is constantly working, and she's really the only reason we're not poor, but I always wish she were around more.

Shaking off my dismal thoughts, I bite into the delicious biscuit my father's made. The fluffy, warm breakfast always has soothed me, and I'm going to need it. I haven't taken out any tessarae, but there's always a chance. I'm terrified of the games, quite honestly, and since Enna won last year, the Gamemakers will probably be making it extra hard for our tributes this year. I just hope it's not someone I know. (Or me?)

After breakfast, I wash my plate and go back to my small room to change into proper clothes. Sadly, I have none. I rummage through the neat pile to find something, but the best I can do is the least-stained shirt. I refold the pile, and slip off my sleeping clothes and put on the reaping clothes, then walk out the door.

"Love you, Dad," I call behind me. I like being early, and I promised my friend that I'd meet her before.

He calls: "Love you too, Cerium!" I smile, and walk out the door onto the hard pavement. We live directly in the center of the industrial area, where many live. Only the richest get to live away from the grime. The tall, gray building that my mother works in looms above my head, cold and windowless. She works in the top floor, as she's an engineer, but the bottom levels are hard, disgusting factories. I'm thankful I won't have to work there when I'm older—hell, I'm thankful I don't have to work there _now_. Even though it's technically illegal, everyone knows the factory owners use kids. Just more laborers for another twisted system. Walking onward, I see Kay where we planned to meet. Kayton Bored is quite the opposite of her last name, excited and giggly around me, but shy otherwise.

"Cerium! Hi!" She waves excitedly. I jog over, smiling.

"Hi, Kay," I reply. "How are you?"

"Nervous," she bites her lip, "aren't we all?"

I frown. "Yeah. I guess so."

We walk along the dirty road, avoiding the tar puddles that practically cover the street. My shoes are so worn out that it wouldn't really matter, but I don't want to look like too much of a slob. There are cameras going after all.

"Race you," Kayton grins, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't, but I'm happy to run. I'm not going to be late, but the earlier the better. I start, my long legs pumping on the paved road to win. Kay's a fast runner, but I'm faster, and I'm ahead of her when I slow down into the square.

"Hey, Cerium," I hear a female voice from behind me, "why running so quickly? Something you need to get away from?"

I laugh. "Nah, I was just racing Kay," I gesture to her, as she's caught up. The girl who asked me is Imogen Mann, a skinny, tall girl I know from school. We've never been too friendly, as her and her friends are the types who like to jump off roofs, play pranks on the teachers, and have fights with other students. She would certainly do well in the games—she's fearless.

"Oh really?" she winks, "something going on there?"

I blush. "No, no, we're just friends."

She smirks. "Right. Of course."

She would also do well in the games because she's not the nicest.

Maxx Prile glides up the creaky stairs to the stage and grins maniacally, baring strange, gold teeth, sharpened to a dangerous-looking point. As he steps up to the large glass bowl with those fateful slips of paper, he rolls up large, flamboyant, frilly sleeves. "Oops," he giggles, "I forgot to say my little speech! Well, here it is: the Capitol defeated District 13, bringing peace to the beautiful nation of Panem." They _destroyed_ 13, more like. "And then they decided that to keep the districts in line they would set up a fight to the death—one boy and one girl from each district, 24 tributes—" No need to spell it out for us. "Getting the chance to win fame, honor, and glory, as well as money. So who's ready for the reaping?"

A small murmur emanates from the crowd. I'm not one of them.

"Let's do this traditionally and start with the ladies. Our lucky girl is…" he rummages around in the bowl, taking far longer than is actually necessary. Just draw the damn slip! It's not that hard. "Heloise Kostas!"

A lanky, tall girl with nearly black hair makes her way through the crowd, heading towards the stage. She doesn't seem to be reacting in a scared way; she just seems annoyed. I'm surprised. Despite her tall frame, which gives her an advantage, she's a tribute. I certainly would be scared if I were reaped.

"Cerium Drive!"

I guess I get the chance to be scared. I walk up to the steps, numb. _I've been reaped. _It doesn't sink in. It doesn't sink in that I'm going to be fighting to the death, killing kids my age, and—

Shit.

I fight back tears, as I climb those stupid wooden steps. Maxx grins even wider. "Shake hands, darlings," he giggles.

I turn almost robotically to Heloise, and extend my hand, meeting hers. My paler skin is a stark contrast to her darker color—she doesn't look like most from 3, she looks more like a tribute from 9 or 11 to me. I'm already thinking of her as just another tribute, not an individual girl. That's what's happening to me. I'm already a monster. I'll have to kill her if I want to survive. I'll have to kill twenty-three of them.

I don't have a chance.

* * *

**Heloise Kostas**

**Age Sixteen**

The air smells like sweat.

Well, sweat, dirt, and oil. Thanks to the large family and our hard work, laundry is not the freshest duty around here. You would think that we would get a break on reaping day, but no, we have to do our regular chores. What joy.

"Mo-om! I don't want to do dishes! It's reaping day," Hanna whines, voicing my thoughts. My cousin is nice, but whiny at times and acts younger than she is. Aunt Elena replies, telling her to "just do them". She has a joking tone in her voice, but she's hiding nervousness. She's scared for us.

Of course, so am I.

The shaky wooden steps creak, and I look up to see Kat's tall frame gingerly stepping onto the loose plank of wood that lies below the staircase. We've all fallen down underneath into the tiny basement once or twice, and we never pull in quite enough money to get it fixed. And none of us have any skills in building, so we've left it all these years.

"Finish up, Heloise—we've got breakfast," Elena calls. Sighing, a lift the last shirt out of the murky water and jog to the tiny kitchen, making it quickly. I've always been a fast runner, partly due to my height and long legs.

Elena hands me a small bowl filled with the tesserae grain we recently got. It's not tasty, to say the least, but it's something. At least it keeps us away from starving, for the first few months. Kat, Hanna and I are old enough, as Luca, the baby, is just eleven. We're glad he's safe, but the extra food will be nice. I don't like to think so cruelly, but that's the life of being poor—you can only think pragmatically.

After we all sit down, I dig in. I've been resisting the tantalizing smell steaming up from the little bowl, but Elena has a rule that we all eat together.

My parents never had any silly rules. It's just one of the things, like an itch you just can't reach, that annoys me just enough to be annoying yet it's impossible to do anything. After my parents died, I was crushed. It's just lucky Elena took me in, because the community home is even worse, especially the working conditions. But I've always been a little on the outside of the family. I never had any siblings to share it with, either.

"I hope we're not reaped today, huh," Kat frets, the corners of her mouth turning down. I roll my eyes. "No, we don't want to get reaped. That's kind of the point of today."

"I'm just saying. It would be awful."

"This is true."

Luca smiles. "We probably won't get reaped though. We never have been, why now?"

"You never know," Hanna replies, somber, "one of us could be."

A silence descends on us, like a gray raincloud. I stand up suddenly, knocking the table so it rattles slightly. "Well, you put us in a great mood, Han," I smile falsely, and nearly throw my bowl into the small sink. As I stalk out the door, I hear an "I'm sorry," emanate from behind me. "I'll get her," is heard from Kat, and a stepping noise grows ever closer to me.

"Kat, it's fine. I just got mad and I wanted to leave. You can go back," I sigh, not turning around.

"I'll stay," she replies simply, "I wanted to see Rosie anyway." There's no getting rid of her now—Kat was always rather stubborn. Eventually, we see Rosie's sandy-blond hair in the distance, standing out from the generally black-haired population of District 3. She smiles slightly, and waves. I beat Kat there, and greet Rosie with "Good luck."

"Way to be pessimistic, Heloise—not even a hello?"

I roll my eyes. "Hello. Good luck. Would you prefer me not to wish you luck at all?"

"'Course not," she replies, "just. Well, it's the reaping, right? No need to be gloomier than usual."

"I guess. But I'd rather be gloomy but prepared than happy and doomed."

And a silence falls, in which time Kat catches up. "You guys didn't need to start walking without me," she says, panting.

"Sorry," Rosie says, actually meaning it. I don't say anything. I've never been a good liar. Rosie looks at her watch. "It's nearly 9:30; we should get going," she frowns. We walk slowly to the city square—no point in getting there early. The noise gets louder, young girls and boys chattering, this year's batch of death sentences.

"And then Coyl said…"

"Did you hear? Alva's dating Wyre!"

"Oh. My. Gosh. Lexis is the worst—no fun, only talks about herself…"

Lighthearted stuff for such a dreary occasion. I suppose they're trying to get their minds of it. Fools. No point in deluding yourself; pretending it's a regular fun party.

Maxx, our _lovely_ escort reads the Treaty of Treason after a slip-up. I'm sure they'll edit that out: the Capitol can't make a mistake. "Our lucky girl is…" Oh Lord, I hope it isn't me. "Heloise Kostas!" And that's why one should never elude them. It'll always turn out for the worse. I resist the urge to smirk, and walk up to the stage, straight-faced. No point in drawing attention to myself.

"Cerium Drive!" The boy's name is called. He has black hair and blue eyes—an interesting combination, but more common in District Three than most. He's also pretty tall, although not quite as tall as me. I hope that'll play an advantage in the games. We shake hands, and I enter the Justice Building, being escorted by Peacekeepers.

Rosie is first in, hugging me tight. She has tears in her eyes. "Heloise…"

"Listen, Rosie, it'll be fine. Even if I die—which I probably will, just saying—you'll be okay."

"No, you won't die, you have to make it out—"

"Lemme finish, it's fine," I cut her off. "Even if I die, you'll be okay. You'll still have your family and Kat and Angelica," I name her other close friend. "So don't worry about me. Okay?"

She sniffles. "Okay." I give her one last hug and she's force to leave by the tall, muscular Peacekeeper.

Next, Hanna, Luca, Elena, and Kat all pile in, ranging from holding back tears to outright bawling. They whisper "Good luck" or Love you"s into my ear, except for Luca, who just says: "I don't want you to go!"

"I don't want to leave either, but I have to," I soothe him.

Nanna limps in, her frown emphasizing her wrinkles. I hug her lightly, and she sits down quickly. She whispers lightly into my ear. "Ella, oh my little Ella. You are so precious."

I smile despite myself, cursing my optimism. "Thank you, Nanna."

"Even if you die, remember this—I remember before the Games begun, and I know there will be a rebellion someday. I know I too will be dead before then, but _it will happen," _Somehow, I almost believe her. And I appreciate her blunt outlook. "I love you."

"I love you too." I murmur. I'm almost surprised at myself—I've never been a sappy person, even less after my parents died. The factory accident made me even more closed off. I shake off my dismal thoughts. I can't bury myself in the past if I want to survive the games.

Not that it's likely.


	5. District Four Reapings: The Different

**As always, apologies about the time it took for me to publish this chapter. Procrastination + real-life busyness is a writer's enemy. This is also a pretty short chapter, unfortunately, but I hope you all like it anyways. :D**

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**Note: Ruetheday, I had to change Mira's character a bit in order to fit her into the story well. I hope that's not an issue.**

**District Four Reaping**

**Mira Chime**

**Age Fifteen**

_The blood-monsters advance, sharp fangs glistening. The leader hisses and spits. His saliva burns (ohgodithurts) on my skin where it fell, the droplets searing and turning into knives that bore into my flesh, twisting, sinking, and killing—_

"_Mira, wake up." A cold, hard, gray voice._

_I scream and scream and scream. When will this end?_

"_Mira, _**wake up**_."_

_I open my eyes _to see my mother's gray, hard eyes staring into mine, and a scowl on her thin lips. "Mira, you're up. You were screaming terribly in your sleep, and it was bothering the triplets." Of course. Not about if I was okay or anything, oh no: it's always about my beautiful, popular sisters. They're vapid imbeciles, always carting around a new boyfriend and cliques of more idiots. This is not what District 4's pride is. District 4 is about winning the Hunger Games. We are a proud district of Career tributes and fighters. Like last year's female from 4, a spitfire; a feisty, fiery tribute that was extremely skilled with spears and tridents. It would've been so good to have a victor last year, but that just means it'll make a bigger splash when I win. No pun intended.

Sitting up, I knock a fluffy ball of tulle, lace, and ribbons to the floor. Examining it, it turns out to be a dress. She actually expects to _wear_ this atrocity? No. Instead, I slip on a regular pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I'm not going to be humiliated by wearing this… garment. I have training clothes at the gym, and I'll just change back into my regular clothes. Yes, I have my "little dreamy issue", but I can control it. I've never had an issue while training—it keeps me sharp, focused.

I creep downstairs, attempting to slip by my sisters without them noticing. But my luck could never be that good. They notice immediately and bustle over, fluffing my already-curly, thick hair, straightening my shirt, and grinning maniacally. "Mira! Mira," they squawk, looking like fools. Eventually, I untangle myself from the morons and sprint out the door. _Finally. _Racing to the center of town, where the training center lies takes a while from our house on the outskirts of the district, it's worth it when I get there. This is my home, far more than any place where my "family" live. The glass door swings open and there I am. After signing in, I head straight for the training room, only stopping to glance up at the time. The reaping is at 10:00 and it's 9:00 right now, leaving me only an hour. The center is very close to the square though, so it hardly matters. I can train for a good half an hour at least. In the dressing room, I slip into my training uniform, slim, fitting the curves on my body, and job out. After a quick stretch, I head straight for the weapons. Although I know I should work on something that I'm not as strong in, the archery is beckoning to me. Grabbing a longbow and a quiver, I turn around quickly and fire away, hitting the target very close to the center. I narrow my eyes. "Close" isn't good enough.

Again and again I fire, _nearly _making it but not quite. Finally, I hit a bull's eye. And another one. That's more like it. I miss a couple times, but I know I would have severely injured, if not killed. Not bad.

"Hey, Mir," I hear a voice. My friend Rita. Without turning around, I drawl: "Coming to see if you can beat me?"

"You know I can." She retorts, grabbing a second bow from the rack. We stand next to each other ready to release our arrows. _Whiz… thunk. _Rita is slightly closer to the center. _Damn_it. "Told you so," she smirks.

"Shut up," I mutter under my breath. The second time, I hit the bull's eye, and she's off. "Who's better now?" It's childish, but effective. She bites her lip. I know I shouldn't be so hard on her—the games are her only chance. Her family's on the poorest side of the district and she needs to go into the games to earn the money for her family. But I can't help it. I'm planning on volunteering when I'm seventeen, to let her volunteer when she has the best chance. It's silly, I know, to let my sentimentality overcome my logic, especially when it comes to my _life_, but that's always been my fatal flaw.

"Um, Mira?" My fatal flaws also include getting wrapped up in my thoughts.

"Yes? I was waiting for you." I bluff.

"… I've had my arrow ready this whole time." Great. Now I look like a fool. I quickly load my bow and fire it. With my distraction it hits the side of the target. Rita smiles sweetly and fires her arrow; it cleanly hits the bull's eye. I put my bow on the rack with a clang. "See you later, Rita."

"See you!" She grins blandly, knowing how pissed I am. I storm into the dressing room, quickly putting on my reaping clothes. I can hear the sounds of Rita's arrows hitting the target. _All bull's eyes, I'm sure. _The bow isn't even her best weapon—she's a master with throwing knives. She's better than I am. I'm sick of it all. I'll die in two years if I don't get my act together. Stalking out of the training center, the receptionist attempts to stop me. "Miss Chime, you have to sign out—"

"—Since you know my name, why don't you sign me out yourself?" I spit over my shoulder. It's probably around 9:30, and I may as well be early. There's nothing else to do. Once I reach the square, I can watch the silly escort bobbing around, fixing her hair and nearly toppling over in those ridiculous silver high heels—although once you hit seven inches, I find myself thinking of them as imbecile heels. This is probably because Orca, Tambi, and Izzy all own a pair.

Eventually, after the amusement from watching the antics of the camera crew/escort get ready are done and all I can see is the mayor twiddling her thumbs in anticipation to begin and I get bored. I've always been the type to bore easily—anything from cooking shows to cartwheels could get me off, thinking about something else. Finally, the mayor takes the stage. This year, they changed the video a little so I absent-mindedly watch, all the while picking the skin off the sides of my thumb. The escort takes the stage, tripping a little in her imbecile heels. Her tutu is crooked, her skin is dyed a nasty color, a sort of off-white. All in all, she does not look good. After stumbling to the two large glass bowls—one for boys, one for girls—she reaches into the girls' bowl, her talon of a hand clutching a slip of paper.

"Mira Chime."

What? _What? _It can't be me. She must mean a different Mira Chime… but then I remember the time that I looked it up: I'm the only Mira Chime in District 4. And I'm not ready! I'm not good enough! Didn't my session with Rita just prove that? Shit, this is not good.

Wait. I'm Mira Chime. I can do anything. And I'll win the Hunger Games. Who cares if I'm young? Who cares if I'm not as trained as I could be? It doesn't matter: I can beat all of them.

Yeah, I'll keep telling myself that.

* * *

**Syda Contrail**

**Age Fifteen**

Finally. Out of the house. I don't even know why Kinny bothers to come over on reaping day—she doesn't like me and she's on polite, cool terms with my parents. She's got her husband and is expecting a child. Why does she need us anymore?

I dislike her presence for more pragmatic reasons also: she suspects _something, _although I'm not sure that she suspects the truth. She's realized it's no coincidence I only have vague traces of looking like my parents, and I don't act like them either. She's the only one who has her head on her shoulders—I may have been made with my parents' genetic material, but if it had not been—

I'm drifting off. I'm a part of OpCe, trained, emotionless, and deadly. I'm here to snuff out the flames and I will do it easily. I was born for this, and then made into the perfect soldier. This will be easy.

Once I reach the docks, I see Polo is already there. I wave to him, and he waves back. I grab my net and walk over to the edge of the dock, where the net makes a gurgle-plop as it hits the water. In and out. In and out. More fish, gasping for oxygen then falling dead. I reach my hands into the net; the slime is disgusting. This menial labor is not for me. I'm better than this. I'm smarter than all these fishermen combined, but my bosses say I must put on the façade of a normal citizen, to avoid suspicion.

"You look glum," intones Polo.

What would a regular citizen say? "It's just the reaping… you know, I'm not a Career and I'm a bit nervous." I try to inflect my voice with the sadness and despair a normal person would have, but it doesn't sound quite right. Oh well. I'll be done with these friends anyway soon enough—it doesn't really matter if they think I'm artificial.

"Yeah, I know what you mean…" Polo says sadly. I've always felt strangely protective of him—people say we look like brothers, with green eyes, black hair, and pale skin. We're also both abnormally tall, although my height is more because of genetic engineering whereas his is because of genes: both Kellsey and River Arlin are quite tall. We like the same books and work on the same fishing crew, so it's almost impossible _not_ to like the quiet, innocent boy.

Do _not_ let your emotions get the better of you, Syda. Polo is not your friend; he is a person that will help you keep the façade of being a normal person. You have one purpose—Operation Cedarwood. Making friends is not on OpCe's agenda.

After some of the disgusting, imbecilic work, I realize I forgot to bring clothes to change out of my messy, gut-covered overalls. Damn it. Now I'll look like a fool, slopping up to the stage covered in grime and fish-guts. Yan isn't here for some reason He should be. I've heard in other districts, citizens don't have to work on reaping day, but that's not the case here. I call over to Polo: "Have you seen Yan?"

"Nope," he replies, "I was wondering where he was too."

"Weird."

The bell rings, signaling our shift being done. "Finally. Not enough time to go back some and get different clothes though," I look mournfully down at the slime-coated overalls. Polo laughs. "I'm so sowwy, Sydie-pie,"

"Shut up."

Before we make it to the square, Saskia Allie Jackdaw ambushes us. "Oh, good," I mumble to Polo, "this is what we need."

Saskia wrinkles her button nose, covered by light freckles. "Well don't you smell attractive?"

"Just because you don't have to work on the docks doesn't mean that we don't," I attempt to walk by her, but she blocks the way, putting a hand on my chest. (Or, at least, she attempts to—it's sort of more on my stomach. She's very short—petite, she likes to call it—and she would have to go on tiptoes to get her head above my chest.)

"You're walking with me," she takes my hand and nearly drags me along. Her petite, curvy frame seems to hide a lot of muscle. She turns to head to Polo. "Cat got your tongue?"

He shrugs. Polo's odd: sometimes he's talkative and sometimes he's practically mute.

Unfortunately, I notice the way Saskia's short dress clings to her body in a nice way. Bright, sparkling green eyes, a heart-shaped face, and short auburn hair—a regular Jackdaw. They're wealthy, beautiful, and arrogant. My creators apparently forgot to remove hormones when they removed emotions. I'm not supposed to get attached to anyone, but Saskia is downright—

No time for this, Syda. You have a game to win. You have no interest in this girl. You have a job to complete.

Finally, we make it to the huge, sun-lit, open square, today blocked by a large stage. The escort, Wezlie McAdams, is stumbling around the stage in tall, ghastly high heels. Eventually, she figures herself out and Mayor Essien starts to read the speech. I have it memorized—Capitol propaganda is constantly spewing in the underground, where I was made and trained.

Finally, she reads the girl's name. "Mira Chime."

Surprisingly, no one volunteers, so Mira comes up to the stage. She's a skinny, tall fifteen-year-old with curly black hair and bright green eyes. She looks startled, but certainly not scared. And I can see the muscles on her arms and the way she holds herself—she's been trained as a Career. Probably was going to attempt to volunteer in a couple years.

"Reelan Bailey." Reelan is a fourteen-year-old, tiny kid, whose look of shock and despair is almost pitiful.

"I volunteer," I call out coolly, raising my hand and striding to the stage.

"And what's your name?" Wezlie asks.

"Syda Contrail." That's all I nee. My purpose is to blend in, and adding a cocky statement afterwards will only draw attention to me.

I shake Mira's hand, looking down at her. Poor kid. She's only going to die.


	6. District Five Reapings: The Thinker

**First of all, I'd like to apologize for the ridiculously late update. -hangs head in shame- A brutal combination of business, writers block, and sheer procrastination has caused this. I'll try to update this faster in the future.**

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**District Five Reaping**

**Ace Teren**

**Age Eighteen**

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"Ace! Come on! You're better than anyone else - which is why you need to eat breakfast!" Yes, my mother is a _master_ of logic. Although I can't deny that I'm the best, this is a little ridiculous. After all, I'm sure some of the other people in District Five are eating a good breakfast. Of course, since today's reaping, Hawk cooked something better than usual, I suppose.

When I come downstairs, she immediately starts questioning me. "How are you feeling? That cold from a month ago hasn't come back, right? I noticed you coughing yesterday, so I needed to ask."

"No, I'm fine," I reply. I sit down to a steaming plate of pancakes and dig in. It's pretty good for my mom—she isn't the best cook. She continues on and on. "Are you nervous for the reaping today?" I'm not, really. I mean, it's not like I had to take out any tesserae—those are for the groveling poor. And even if I were reaped, someone would probably volunteer. I'm well loved in the district, and I'm worth more than some peasant.

After breakfast, I stand up and head upstairs. I need to change into what I'm going to wear for the reaping. It's soon: I'm a late sleeper. I decide on a black t-shirt with black pants. The color black suits me. Looking into the mirror, I like what I see. Black hair and dark eyes, tanned skin; I'm tall and wiry. I definitely think I'm one of the more handsome boys in our district, if not Panem. Finally, I slip on a pair of heavy black boots. I want to look tough and powerful, just like I am.

"Mom, I'm leaving," I call once I get downstairs.

"Okay, Acey!" Ugh. That nickname.

I glance at the clock as I walk out the door. About 9:30. I've got a good hour to get there. I'm not bothering meeting with Clog;he'll find me soon enough.

The square is bustling with all these dirty fools. Little kids whining pitifully, clutching Mommy's hand, or even us older ones, who are still terrified. I even see one eighteen-year-old kiss her toddler goodbye. Slut. Her boyfriend probably left the ugly girl, and with good reason.

Clog jogs to me, panting. "Hey, Ace; weren't we going to meet up?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to just get here."

"Oh, okay!" A little red-haired girl walks past us, and Clog sticks his foot out, tripping her. She bursts out crying as her hands hit the ground. I chuckle. "Nice one, Clog."

"I know," he smirks. The kid runs away from us, squealing.

"Do you think she'll run to her mommy and be a tattletale?" I mock.

"Oh, no, I hope she doesn't. I don't want to be put in a time out!" Clog replies wickedly. It wasn't cool of him to trip the kid—I wouldn't have done it—but it _was_ funny.

We file into our section and watch as the escort—Quentin? Quail? I don't care—mutters to himself, running through his speech. Despite the fact that he's been doing the job for years, he always seems awfully nervous. Weak. He gets his cue, steps into position, and the crowd's noise dies down.

"Welcome, everyone, to the reaping of District Five! We will begin with the Treaty of Treason…" That's where I space out. Blah blah, the Capitol's better than you, blah blah. No Capitol citizen is better than me, that's for sure.

"We'll start with the ladies, as tradition dictates." I look up. I wonder who the poor saps will be this year… last year, our male was fairly successful, making it to the final eight, although the girl was killed earlier. "Celestina Gudgeon!" He waves the bit of paper around in celebration.

A pixie of a girl, standing at around 4'7", with red hair and too-large glasses, her scrappy dress shaking with her trembles, steps to the stage. I almost feel sorry for her. She's a target, destined for a bloodbath death.

"Congratulations, Celestina!" The escort enthuses. "Now, our male tribute… Ace Teren!"

What? It can't be me. This is ridiculous. I'm better than a simple death match. And Clog should volunteer, right? I'm his best friend! But I only hear the murmurs, and I force my features into a disdainful expression before stepping out of the pen and up to the stage.

"Congratulations to Ace! Now, shake hands." I grip Celestina's hand, which is half the size of mine.

Well, Ace, you're better than all of these dingbats. You'll make it out for sure.

* * *

**Celestina Gudgeon**

**Age Twelve**

When my eyes open, I shut them tight. _It's not today it's not today it's not today I____just woke up in the middle of the night… _unfortunately, a bird chirps and I can see the light through my eyelids. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and sit up, grabbing my glasses. They're too big, but without them I can't see at all. Despite the low ceiling, my head doesn't scrape it. Climbing slowly out of bed, I knock over the small lamp. I shriek slightly, but pick it back up and place it on the tiny wooden stand.

Rubbing my eyes, I calculate my odds. Math always soothes me: the clear, hard rules are easy to navigate. There are no loopholes, and everything has a reason. I've only got one slip, as I'm twelve, but I was forced to take tesserae for all my family, adding up to six slips in the bowl. That's not that much compared to some. I know a kid who has to take forty-two—he's eighteen, and has a huge family, with his extended family living with him.

I tiptoe out of the room. I wouldn't want to wake Altha, who I share this room with. She stirred when I knocked over the lamp, and I feel bad. I'm the early riser of the family, and Altha tends to be cranky in the morning. The door opens with a creak and I wince. The walls in the house are painfully thin, and I hope no one was woken up. That would be really bad; everyone's already cranky enough, and…

This is silly. I'm transferring my anxiety of first reaping to waking the others in the house up. In the small, dusty library of District Five's engineering headquarters (which I'm technically not allowed in, but my mother has the key) there's an old book on psychology, which I studied a lot, in the hopes of improving my social skills. It didn't really work. I'm not really sure why a psychology book would be in an engineering library, but I'm not complaining. That scarce library is where I get most of my knowledge about science and math. I've always been gifted, but without that, I would be devoid of knowledge. That would be _terrible._

I sit in the kitchen, reading the book on nanobot technology starting to be used power plants to make it more efficient. I need to ask Mother about that sometime, although she's hardly ever around, and when she is, she's busy.

I hear a knock at the door. One, two-three, four-five… six seven. I smile at the familiar noise of our secret knock and go to open the door. Darrien is standing there, smiling down at me. I crane my neck up to him. "Hi." I say.

"Hey, Cel," he grins. I bring him inside quickly, and he hands me the game.

"Thank you so much, Darrien." I smile.

He shrugs. "Thank my father, really. He's the one who hunted it."

"But you brought it here. Do you know how much trouble you could get in? The Peacekeepers would kill you!"

"Yeah, well, that's the risk I take." He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Be careful!" I whisper, as he slips out the door. I don't know what we would do without Darrien. My parents both have okay jobs, but we would still starve if we didn't have him. I open up a small book on biology, an old birthday present from Altha. I have it memorized, but reading the familiar words is always nice.

Jutta walks into the room, nary a good-morning. No point in saying anything to her. She'd only be snarky back.

"Oh, it's the weirdo." She turns around, acting like she just noticed I was there. I continue reading. If I don't talk, she'll shut up.

"What? She's mute as well as geeky?"

Keep reading.

"Dumbass." Now, an insult to my intelligence is the thing I will not take.

"Says the imbecile." I reply keeping my eyes focused on the pages. Jutta isn't really stupid, but she's bratty and obnoxious.

"She isn't mute! What joy!" She rolls her eyes.

"Never was."

"You sure seemed like it." She snaps, walking away. I hate the battles with Jutta. I'm no good at it and it always makes me feel bad for whatever reason. It's stupid, I know it, but I don't like people. I just want to be alone with books and maybe someone who I can trust. Is that too much to ask? I continue reading the book. _Photosynthesis is when a plant absorbs sunlight and converts it into nutrients. _I stare at the diagram intently until she leaves the room.

The rest of the family comes downstairs, and I wave halfheartedly to all of them. My mother, Delisa, wraps me in a big hug. The only time she shows emotion towards any of us is when it's the reaping. Otherwise she's calm, even cold. My father, Harry, tries to joke, but they fall flat.

"Come on, Celestina, let's go to the reaping together." Altha takes my hand. I nod, suddenly feeling very, very small. We walk down the uneven, bumpy road and I wrinkle my nose at the smell of the power plants as we walk by. I've never gotten used to that terrible stench. I hear a squeal from the side of the road. Looking over, I see a bird with a broken wing stuck in a grate.

Altha runs over immediately, cooing. "Oh, you poor thing… I'll fix you up, don't worry."

"Altha? We'll be late."

"Cel, we need to help it! You can be so cold sometimes. Who cares about the reaping?"

"_I wouldn't say that in front of the Peacekeepers_," I mutter, looking over at the stern man.

"Celes_tina. _Please?" She looks up, giving me the classic Altha puppy-dog-eyes.

"Okay, fine. But I'm coming back later."

_Unless the bird has died by then, _I don't dare say it out loud. Despite her sweet disposition, Altha has a temper, especially when it comes to helping or saving things. She cried when we had to cook her pet mouse, Dara.

"Come on!" I run, my short legs not keeping up with her longer ones.

We rush into the square, just as the ceremony is beginning. Now I can worry. Quinly Duncan, a jovial sort of man steps up to the microphone. I take a deep breath and attempt to use the tricks that usually calm me own. Counting, listing things like colors, I try them all. They don't help. The first reaping is the worst, they say, and I hope so - there's a nasty feeling in my gut and I can feel myself breathing heavily.

He dips his hand into the girls' bowl and draws out a slip of paper. "Celestina Gudgeon," he reads. Oh god. No. I force my feet to move towards the stage, and I can feel my arms shaking. I can't panic though; I can't look weak. I need to come up with a plan, a strategy. Thinking is the only thing I'm any good at, and I have to use that. So once I get to the stage, I take a deep breath and _think. _Ace Teren's arrogance radiates of his very skin. He seems intelligent enough, I suppose, but I can certainly outsmart him. He's strong and tall though. Perhaps, if he's easy to manipulate, he can be a shield for me. I'm not a fighter, and I'll need someone to protect me.

This will be strategy. Last as long as possible, using only my wits.


End file.
